Coffee after midnight
by UnknownPen
Summary: What's a cup of coffee between friends? Sometimes, more than that. Friendship fic with romantic undercurrent. One-shot. Please read and review.


_For Quill1688: Not quite fluff, but getting there._

**COFFEE AFTER MIDNIGHT**

Her eyelids fluttered as the scent of coffee wafted into her nostrils. She breathed it in, swiped off her covers and rose out of bed, sluggish limbs animated by the need to find the source of the blessed aroma that had diffused into her room. Like the cartoon characters in those old shows, she practically floated on the scent, her eyes still shut and a small but blissful smile on her face.

Her nose directed her to the kitchen, where he stood with his arms crossed pensively watching the pot as the dark liquid brewed inside. He had taken off his mask and the top half of his costume was hanging downwards from his waist revealing a white ribbed tank. He turned at the slight sound of her padding feet. She was in her usual night attire – giant Gotham Knights T-shirt paired with blue plaid boxers, all of which only served to belie the svelte form underneath. Short pink hair stuck out in disheveled clumps. Her heavy-lidded gaze met his as she neared.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized gently. "Go back to bed."

She ignored him and stubbornly took a seat at the cypress kitchen table. "Coffee," she growled, her voice thick with the cobwebs of sleep.

He shook his head and smiled. She was no less willful half-dozing than she was fully awake. Sliding the cabinet door open, he pulled out two mugs, quickly filling one with the steaming beverage. He didn't have to ask how she wanted it. Black, no cream, no sugar, just like him.

He passed her the cup and she took it between her hands with mumbled thanks. She brought the mug up to her lips but it was scalding hot so she held it there, watching the steam rise from it. He pulled up a chair, his own coffee in front of him. He picked up his mug to drink but paused, not chancing a sip just yet. They exchanged a glance and she shot him a wry smile. It was met with a grin of his own. They looked a bit ridiculous, frozen like mannequins in identical poses. Still, with the lower half of her face concealed, her eyes were all the more prominent and he couldn't help but notice that her irises were the exact same shade as the coffee: dark, dark brown, almost black. Thick lashes crowded like rushes at a riverbank and her hooded gaze was unexpectedly alluring. It was enough send a jolt to his stomach.

_Like the Queen of Sheba,_ he thought inanely, then chuckled silently. Where the heck had that come from?

She was the first to drink, blowing the steam away and bringing the vessel to her lips. He followed suit.

"Good night?" she asked, her voice already lighter. It was a few minutes past three. Quite rare for him to be off work this early. Normally he fell through her window on the cusp of dawn, stealing a few moments of rest before school began, and then spending the next eight hours wrestling with sleep, which pretty much won that daily battle.

He shrugged. "Not too bad."

_Typical_, she thought as she studied her companion. He had probably saved someone's life tonight, yet the way he spoke with such unaffectedness, such modesty, you might never know it. Part of her understood this was still the same guy she had always known – same wintry blue eyes, tousled black hair, warm smile. Still, it was difficult not to marvel at his evolution since he had taken up the mantle of city protector. She had been astonished when she found out that the man under the mask was her best friend but now she couldn't fathom anyone else in the role. He had been at it for about a year and the changes were already evident, not least in his physique. The tank fit snugly over his chest and his narrow sculpted abdomen. He stood a little taller nowadays and there was a new swagger, a confidence in his step that you might not recognise unless you were looking for it. His pale skin had a lot more marks on it than it used to. They were like a catalogue of his exploits. He might be surprised to learn that she could remember which scar went with which adventure, but she did because she was the one who tended to his wounds, who iced his bruises and applied heat cream to his aching muscles. Still, she was pleased to see some of the scars fading.

She thought about pressing him to reveal what had happened that night but reasoned it could wait. So they sat in companionable silence and he began to lose himself in the tranquility of the moment. Other things got pushed to the back of his mind: his tenuous relationship with his girlfriend, his issues with his mother and the old man. He was with the only person who never wanted anything from him; the only person he never worried about disappointing. And it felt good. He could feel the pressure of responsibility lift off his shoulders, temporarily, he knew, but he was glad all the same. Relief and contentment mixed in the sigh he blew out. And he decided that nothing had ever tasted better than that cup of coffee.

Without warning a thought slithered into his brain that interrupted his peace. "Max," he piped up, his tone wary, "when is that Chem test again?"

"Today." She replied. "You did study, didn't you?" She added with an arched eyebrow, knowing full well what the answer would be.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. He'd meant to study. Really. He'd even gone so far as carrying his textbook in his backpack everywhere he went. It was just that between his chores, his job, his other assignments and his girlfriend, well… "I didn't exactly…"

She shook her head, an unsurprised smile pulling at her full lips. They were going to need a lot more coffee.


End file.
